


the scent of eros

by awkwardspaceturtle



Series: his brother's keeper [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst, Biting, Blow Jobs, Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Bruises, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drabble, Dry Humping, Grinding, Jealousy, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Obsession, Sibling Incest, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:02:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25711051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardspaceturtle/pseuds/awkwardspaceturtle
Summary: We can only be each other's.We can't be anyone else's.
Relationships: Background Keith/Shiro, Kuro/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: his brother's keeper [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/540040
Comments: 10
Kudos: 33
Collections: Bottom Shiro Week 2020





	the scent of eros

**Author's Note:**

> i have been writing this on and off since publishing part 3 of the series. and this may be the thirstiest piece i've done for shirocest and bottom shiro altogether. anyways, shiro /is/ the bottom, but don't trust me to write the penetration part (yet???) bc i am painfully WEAK

Keith’s scent. Not even the rain can cleanse him of it. So thick he can almost taste it in his mouth. The hunger -- oh, the _hunger_. His appetite, burning, his body left wanting, hurting with the intensity of it, his desire so immense that its fulfillment -- _and_ the lack of it -- is pure agony.

Instead of using the apartment key, Shiro knocks on the door. His whole body is trembling, not from rain, not the cold. He doesn’t trust his fingers not to fumble with his keys. Lines are getting too blurry, too dangerously close to the an explosive chemical reaction. His head is full of drums, his heart pounding loud with the promise he had made with Kuro.

_We can only be each other’s._

Finally he hears the lock turn from the inside.

_We can’t be anyone else’s._

“Did you leave your keys--”

Shiro doesn’t leave time for Kuro to finish as he grabs his face and kisses him fiercely, his wet clothes dampening the floor and everything else. Behind him, the door closes by itself and the automatic lock shuts them both from the outside.

He kicks his shoes off and pushes Kuro further into the apartment while kissing and biting him with urgent haste; Kuro in turn lavishes him with tongue and teeth and lifts him up to carry him to the living room, Shiro immediately wraps his legs around his hips and grinds his pelvis feverishly against him like a stray in heat, guided only by instinct.

Outside, the rain rages still; inside, a dance of tongues and teeth and hands, a struggle for human connection so total and frenzied that their passions turn bestial in its urgency.

Moving by instinct alone, Kuro dives in for Shiro’s throat and sucks hard, leaving a trail down to his collarbone. Shiro encourages him by moaning loudly and pulling on the crown of his head, hands roaming down his neck to his broad back muscles he personally decorated with bites and hickeys.

Shiro can’t decide what’s the cause of the sudden surge if his libido -- is it the memory of Keith’s painstakingly hushed panting, the ghost of his warmth against his body? Or is it the intensity of Kuro’s passion for him, the knowledge that he is completely known and accepted for whatever he has become? Or is it the guilt of supposed infidelity, knowing that he can’t completely give himself to an outsider, but cannot fully stay away from him and thereby hurting the only person who makes up half of his whole?

He can’t tell which one is the fire, and which is the fuel feeding the flames; either way, he’s burning with a fever he can barely contain. Either way, not even the rain clears the smoke. Not even the rain can mask the scent of his desire -- desire for someone who is not Kuro.

Then just as suddenly, Kuro stops. The lawless friction, the desperate clawing and grabbing, all at once, diluted. And just as in tune to every quiver of Kuro’s heartstrings, Shiro _knows_.

“Be more angry with me, Kuro. _Fucking punish me_.”

“What the _fuck_?” Kuro growls. He pushes himself back just enough to examine him and Shiro sees everything flash in the deep hues of Kuro’s eyes -- the confusion, the sobering realization, the eruption of anger.

“Are you purposely trying to make me angry?” Kuro demands dangerously, pure hot anger making him grind his words between his teeth.

Shiro feels Kuro’s fingernails dig furiously into his hip. He licks his lips. Despite it all, Shiro trembles in guilt, in blinding desire, in ecstatic anticipation. Indeed, there must be something very messed up inside him that makes him want Kuro to demand his penance.

Kuro never lies to him-- no phony smiles only reserved for the outside world, no sugarcoated words to grant him lip service. Just as Kuro accepts the entirety of him, Shiro welcomes Kuro’s every ugly and beautiful thing. He takes all his truths in kisses, in bites, in scratches and fists and bruises. By his gaze alone, Shiro hears everything that goes unsaid.

Shiro takes Kuro’s hand from his chest and replaces it around his neck. He bites his lower lip, sees its effect on Kuro. The grudging surrender, the _hunger_.

Kuro’s glare intensifies. He doesn’t speak, lets the tension speak for itself. His choosing silence as a response only charges Shiro with heat and need. And yet Shiro also knows his body language very well -- the controlled rhythm to the rising and falling of his chest, the contraction of his muscles, his rapid pulse, the trembling of his entire body.

Kuro has never said ‘no’ to any of Shiro’s requests. Neither has Shiro denied him of anything, either. He can’t be this level of selfish with anyone else. The only one who can see Shiro for the true monopolizer that he is and loves him for it -- and needs him, wants him to be -- is Kuro, and Kuro alone.

“You sadist,” Kuro says between gritted teeth.

“Then hurt me more than I’ve hurt you. _Please_.”

 _Please_. Kuro turns his face away, baring his teeth at nothing.

Kuro doesn’t break. Not for anyone, not anymore. The only person he granted the power to do so was Shiro.

“You don’t get to _beg_ for _penance_.”

Kuro carries him to the sofa and pushes Shiro against the cushions. He immediately follows and pins his arms above him -- he will not allow him control. His fury sinks into Shiro’s damp skin in the form of teeth, making sure to mark him with blood and spit all the way to his pecs.

Shiro is about to moan, but Kuro shushes him by shoving three fingers down his mouth. Shiro writhes and wriggles under his weight, not out of protest, but of ecstasy. _More, more_ , he thinks, with every ring of teeth marks that bloom on his skin. Then he’s suddenly pulled upwards, and he finds himself on top of Kuro, straddling him.

“You don’t get to touch yourself unless I will it.”

The finality in his voice -- no room for negotiation nor compromise, just the way Shiro likes it.

Kuro guides Shiro’s hand to rest on the growing mound in the middle of his boxers. Shiro’s response comes out in a ragged moan. The sensation and girth of his manhood, even through the fabric, is familiar and an aphrodisiac in itself. Desperate desire burns and protests in Shiro’s groin, and drives his hand along Kuro’s pulsating length.

“ _Suck it_.”

One cold command, and Shiro crawls down to bite on the bulging mound before pulling it out and worshiping it with his tongue. His lips, swollen and dark from the passionate nibbling, masterfully wraps around the thickness and heat of Kuro, who lets out a mangled cry of pleasure as he tilts his head back and juts his hips forward. Shiro knows just how to tease the tip, just where to lick and suck, just where and how to drive Kuro to the edge without taking him all the way down his throat. When he finally does, Kuro just about melts in him.

As he slides in and out between his legs, Shiro reaches up to knead on the flesh right below Kuro’s stomach, making his way up to the rest of his hardened abs. Carnal desires have made him incredibly sensitive, as evidenced by the tiny tremors that prematurely rock his body. His moans are low and labored above Shiro, his chest expanding and compressing at a rapid rate with imminent white hot release.

Shiro feels him getting close, and he holds him longer inside him until Kuro’s entire body convulses in mind-blowing pleasure, his fingers curling wildly around Shiro’s hair, until a white hot stream floods his throat and mouth and nearly chokes him.

While Kuro lies heaving heavy breaths on the sofa to let the aftershocks of release subside, Shiro climbs back on top of him, fingering the dripping cum from his chin and cheeks into his mouth. Kuro watches him with heavy-lidded eyes, anger sharpening his gaze still, arms slack at his sides. He bites his own lower lip.

“Finish on your own.”

Shiro complies. He takes his time for Kuro’s viewing pleasure, making a show of licking his fingers while his other hand strokes his own leaking shaft. 

Shiro feels Kuro stir under him, hard and wet and big grazing the inside of his thigh. He strokes himself harder, faster, his other hand going from his mouth down under his damp shirt to give much needed attention to his nipples, all the while without taking his eyes off the mirror staring back at him with equal carnal greed.

In his peripheral vision, he sees Kuro’s arms start to move -- and much to his mixed disappointment and thrill, the hands he want so desperately to pleasure him don’t touch him at all. Instead, Kuro nurses his own, rock hard and standing full mast even after the powerful release just moments ago.

Shiro finally leans in and licks Kuro’s lips until Kuro opens up for him to taste and swallow the mess he left in his mouth. Their kiss is as hungry as ever, yet less in desperation than it is in passion. With a final grunt, he succumbs to the sensations and comes in his tight fist, spraying all over Kuro’s chest and stomach, while Kuro ejects his second load in a matching rhythm.

Shiro lets himself collapse onto Kuro, his head falling into the space between his neck and shoulder. He feels Kuro wrap him in a gentle embrace, holding them both as they just sat there getting back all the air they exchanged for heated kisses. He lets his own fingers roam the short crop of Kuro’s hair, and just stays there treasuring him, loving and needing him in a way they were taught not to love nor need each other.

Shiro pulls back a little bit just to plant a lingering tender kiss on Kuro’s forehead. Then he comes back down and places an equally gentle kiss on his lips, with all of his yearning and affection, and Kuro returns in kind, the way normal lovers do.

_I’m sorry I love you I’m sorry I love you I’m sorry I love you Kuro I love you I love you._

The mantra keeps playing in his head as he replaces the hard kisses with soft comforting pecks, their tempo receding to a mellow one as they try to catch their breath. The last few words make their way out of his mouth in whispers so that Kuro catches them. _I love you I love you I love you_

Which one of them is the sadist? The masochist? Lips gnawed and swollen, Shiro doesn’t have to wonder. Apparently, it’s both. The taste of copper in his mouth will remind him for days.

Then he stops tasting -- he feels. There is pain and the tang of copper all over again as Kuro leans in for another bite. When Shiro catches his eyes, he feels the warm force of Kuro’s palms cupping the breadth of his ass, a couple of fingertips kneading tantalizingly at his puckered hole.

“The time for apology is over. Now it’s time for penance.”

Shiro stares at him wide-eyed, swallows. Without breaking off eye contact, Kuro fishes for his phone his back pocket and hands it over. His voice is colder than a thousand years of winter when he speaks.

“Look for his name. Dial it.”

Keith’s scent -- not even the rain can cleanse him of it. It was the kind that clung to his clothes, his skin, defied logic and seeped into bones that the musk would haunt him for days. Yet now, only the smoke created by Kuro’s fire lingers, bathed Shiro in its ashes and burned the whole room with it.

Kuro speaks slowly, every word bleeding out like it went through barbed wire.

“When he answers, _don’t speak_ to him.”

Shiro freezes. His fingers still tremble -- fear, nervousness, excitement? They all just melt together kn one hot mess -- over the phone’s screen even as Kuro carries him and walks them both to their bedroom. His appetite, burning still, his body left wanting for more, hurting with the intensity of it, his desire so immense that its fulfillment -- _and_ the lack of it -- is pure ecstasy.

Kuro kicks the door shut. The evening has just begun.

**Author's Note:**

> (i can't believe it's only been 2k words, it felt like i toiled on this for longer)
> 
> shoutout to my 2016 self who started with two oneshots of this and kept everything else in her thoughts for the next 3-4 years. guess what, you got horny enough to continue writing this after all! congrats to you! :) 
> 
> anyway, I’m ending this here!! for now… i can’t decide on the two outcomes i have in mind, because it is both in character for Kuro to keep the phone call running while they fuck, or cancel it just right after Keith hears Shiro’s first moan when Kuro pounds into him. oh the joy of writing bottom Shiro... til the next (???) instalment i guess


End file.
